For the Inadequate
The clinical trials for a new drug are largely divided into four phases. First comes Phase 1, where safety is verified. Phase 2 checks efficacy and side effects, while Phase 3 involves large-scale clinical validation. Only after passing all of these is approval granted for sale.
"If the trials are underway, that means the drug itself actually exists. Yet they're short on samples and test subjects—that's a bit odd."
The story didn't add up. Sensing the inconsistency, Enoch turned to Felton.
"I understand the situation. But something about this doesn't line up. At which phase did the process break down?"
"Phase 3. We couldn't secure enough of the drug or enough testers."
"Because of the funding issues you mentioned earlier?"
"For now, yes."
They lacked the money to produce more of the drug. For the same reason, they couldn't recruit testers. On the surface, there was nothing strange about that. Clinical trials often stall midway due to budget shortfalls. What was strange was why they had come to Enoch personally instead of seeking support from an imperial institution.
"Couldn't you request aid from a medical institution? Or at least take out a loan? There should still be a few business support policies for new drug development."
"…You're right. In any other case, I would have done exactly that. But this time, I can't. The banks aren't on our side to begin with."
Not on our side. Enoch's instincts reacted to those words.
"The banks… meaning vested interests. So there's a faction that doesn't want this new drug to see the light of day. Have they already crossed swords with you?"
"You've got sharp instincts, lad."
"It's a common story. Money has no emotions. Only people get swept up by it."
Someone didn't want the new drug to appear. And that someone possessed enough power and influence to pressure banks and government agencies alike.
"There's one more thing I need to clarify. What exactly does this new drug your disciple created do?"
"It's a medicine that drives out the Demon of Forgetfulness. Not the official name, of course—we've temporarily called it Orpheus."
The Demon of Forgetfulness was a metaphor. The actual condition it referred to was memory-related. In other words, dementia.
"Forgetfulness… Then the problem isn't the Church, but another company that already dominates the market. Could it be Dimaira?"
Felton nodded, visibly surprised by Enoch's question.
"Correct. We've run into trouble with Dimaira. They contacted us demanding we hand over our shares. But how did you know?"
"There were rumors. Their people are quite notorious behind the scenes."
Dimaira Incorporated. It was the famous pharmaceutical company frequently mentioned even in the original game, Eoin. Practically half the potions in the game could be considered their monopoly. Whenever a new drug was developed, they would first sabotage the work slightly, then approach from behind to steal the shares outright. Naturally, plenty of unsavory rumors surrounded them. One of the heroes who appeared in the game had lost an arm to rot because they couldn't afford the medicine in time. The NPC in charge of treatment had also been driven out of the market by Dimaira and now ran a field hospital on the front lines.
This meant there would be plenty of entanglements ahead. Given that such a massive company had deliberately interfered, it made sense that the new drug's progress had stalled.
From the way he talks, they've been meddling for quite some time. If I'm not careful, I might get dragged into something troublesome.
Enoch paused to consider. Was it really worth making an enemy of a monstrous corporation that devoured half the market just for a fleeting act of goodwill?
Honestly, it doesn't matter much to me. And Felton's connection is worth maintaining long-term. Even if I can't help openly, I could extend some favor indirectly…
At that moment, a question surfaced in Enoch's mind.
Wait. As far as I know, no memory-related treatment ever appeared in the original story. If it had, dealing with status ailments would have been much easier.
Why had he never even heard of an NPC with such a significant setting? Enoch knew nothing about Felton's disciple beyond her name. Who she was. Whether she was someone he already knew.
Enoch decided to address that first.
"Doctor."
"Hm? What is it?"
"Could you tell me a bit about your disciple first? Before I invest, I'd like to know what kind of person she is."
"Ah, of course. My mistake. I should have told you before getting to the main point."
Felton apologized and handed Enoch a sheet of paper containing her profile. Enoch examined it—and was astonished.
Damn it. So it was her.
The profile contained information on his disciple, Clareina. But what caught Enoch's eye wasn't the text—it was the photograph. Short brown hair. Sharp eyes that somehow looked tired. The kind of face that suggested she smoked heavily.
It matched a character from his memories exactly.
Clareina's true identity was the very NPC who ran the field hospital mentioned earlier—the one who had treated the heroes in the game.
In the game she was just listed as 'Lena.' I dismissed it as a common name. So it was a nickname all along?
Lena had been one of the important NPCs responsible for healing the heroes until the late stages of the game. Even in the final arc, when the Empire faltered and countless NPCs and allies fled, she remained until the very end—a character of unwavering loyalty. Of course, that had been a kind of systemic allowance. But this world was no longer a game; it was reality. Intentional or not, building a connection with Clareina would greatly increase the chances she would help him later.
The clinical trial wasn't the real issue to begin with. I almost missed the forest for the trees.
Enoch's options had already vanished. He had to help. More than that—he had to forge a solid connection.
With that decision, his next actions came easily.
"Hmm…"
Enoch deliberately dragged out the moment, pretending to deliberate. Just as Felton's expression began to waver with anxiety, Enoch let out a deep sigh and spoke.
"Looking at the profile, there's nothing particularly worrisome. She even graduated from the right school."
"That's right. She was my student from the beginning."
"Just to be sure—how much funding do you need?"
"W-Well… about a billion should do."
Felton spoke with difficulty. One billion. A mere billion…
"Doctor."
"W-What is it?"
"I want to help you and your disciple. This is sincere. So please stop being cautious and speak honestly."
"……"
"Are you really going to let this precious opportunity slip away over pocket change?"
This was the final chance. Enoch conveyed that meaning with a subtle nudge. Felton wasn't foolish enough to miss it.
"…120 billion. That's roughly what's needed for Phase 3."
"Does that include labor costs for your disciple and the other colleagues?"
"……Now that I think about it, it might be 121 billion."
He still couldn't shake his timid demeanor. Or perhaps it was better called conscience. Either way, the answer was already decided.
Enoch sighed, then spoke in the same casual tone one might use to order pretzels at a pub.
"200 billion. I'll pay it all in cash at once."
"T-Two hundred billion?!"
"Yes. In exchange, give me twenty percent of the shares in the new drug, Orpheus. Then I'll transfer the funds."
"Twenty?! Have you lost your mind?!"
Felton cried out in shock. Not because Enoch was taking too much—rather, because he was taking too little.
In drug development, the costs included clinical trial expenses. Phase 1 typically ranged from one to six billion. Phase 2 from nine to twenty-five billion. Phase 3 averaged around eighty billion. In effect, Phase 3 accounted for nearly half of the total development cost. That meant Enoch could reasonably demand shares in that range. But he hadn't. Money was already overflowing for him. Even if a small biotech company grew successfully, its market cap would barely reach a few trillion at most. Even if he took fifty percent, that paltry sum wasn't something Enoch would covet.
"I won't hear any arguments about the shares. I only asked for them in the first place for the sake of appearances."
"Appearances…? Wait, you don't mean—"
"Yes. Only then will the hyenas think twice before making a move."
The hyenas, of course, referred to Dimaira Incorporated—specifically, its representative, the Golden Mage. As both the company's head and an Essence-level mage, he needed to direct his arrows at Enoch rather than Felton or Clareina.
This will be known as a personal investment, not a corporate one. That way, even Dimaira won't have an easy angle of attack. I considered going public and buying shares indirectly, but that would take far too long right now.
Enoch had never intended to leave Dimaira alone in the first place. He already knew how those market-dominating bastards would behave when the end approached. Eventually, they would clash anyway. If this incident made them watch him and stir up trouble, all the better. It would simply hand him a legitimate reason to strike them.
Of course, I can't reveal that truth in advance. Sorry about that, Doctor.
Enoch organized his thoughts and waited for Felton's answer. For some reason, Felton was staring at him with a dazed expression.
"Doctor?"
"…Huh? Ah, sorry. I spaced out for a moment."
"You can't start doing that already. Go ask your disciple for a sample of the new drug. If you say the investor requested it, she won't coldly refuse."
At those words, Felton let out a wheezing laugh. Perhaps it was because the financial burden that had been weighing on him was finally lifted. His expression looked lighter and more relieved than before.
"You're… quite the unpredictable fellow in many ways."
"Am I? I don't feel like I've changed much."
"I don't know. You seem very different from when we first met. Back then, you were quite reckless—showing up at dawn covered in wounds and suddenly demanding treatment. And now, you're the one saving me. Life really is unpredictable."
Felton added that with another wheezing laugh.
"I suppose I should start by saying thank you. Thank you, Enoch. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. You saved this old man's heart and my young disciple's future. I can't even begin to figure out how to repay you."
"Let's set aside the burdensome words. If it's a problem that can be solved with money, it isn't particularly difficult for me."
"Even if you say that, it's different for me and my disciple. Anyway, remember this—I will definitely repay this debt."
Felton said this while retrieving a bottle of liquor from the display case. It was a mid-to-low-priced product with decent value, no particular brand attached. Only then did Enoch notice Felton's clothing and the state of the room. For a hospital in such a prime location between the noble and commercial districts, there were remarkably few valuables inside.
It seems Felton himself funded everything up to Phase 2. Once Dimaira got involved, no other sponsors would have appeared. He pushed himself too hard in his old age.
Enoch felt a fresh sense of curiosity. He had the world's sponsorship and a mission to aid the heroes in saving the world. But the old man before him had none of that. He had no mission, no reason to sacrifice himself. So why go this far?
Strangely, the question didn't seem to belong to Enoch alone.
"At this point, I'm curious about something."
"What do you mean?"
"Why you helped us. I know it's not my place to ask after receiving help, but… couldn't you have just ignored us?"
Enoch fell silent at the question. He couldn't answer honestly, so he had no choice but to give a suitable reply.
"Well, does there need to be a reason? In the end, goodwill comes around, doesn't it?"
"Hah. Do you really believe that?"
"I have no choice. After all, I'm someone who lives because of that goodwill. Even if others can deny it, I at least cannot. …If we're going by that logic, doesn't the same apply to you, Doctor?"
"Me? What do you mean?"
Enoch pointed to the nearby display case with his finger—the very one from which Felton had taken the cheap brandy.
"A high-end display case from the Sagaria brand. Even the price alone would be worth at least several million cros. Yet all it contains are these cheap bottles. Given that you have a display case at all, it must have been an important hobby. So why is the inside so shabby?"
"Hmm…"
"That question applies to you as well, Doctor—not just me. Don't you think?"
Why had he helped them? Ironically, the question could be directed at Felton himself, not just Enoch. And the answer to that question was something that couldn't be explained with words. There were things that only grew uglier the more you tried to explain them—and this was one of those moments.
"Hah. I can't win against you with words."
"Then why ask something like that in the first place? Answering would only make us both look foolish."
Enoch said this while lining up empty glasses side by side. Felton chuckled and uncorked the bottle.
"Hearing you say that makes me realize it again—I really am the type who brings trouble on myself."
"What a coincidence. So am I."
"You'd better take that back. I was just putting it nicely—that we live like fools, only taking losses."
"I don't mind. It's not a lie, after all. Come on, let's have a drink, fool to fool."
Enoch smiled and held out his glass. Felton let out a hearty laugh and poured the liquor. The glasses clinked in midair.
One for the people who would be treated in the future.
Another for the disciple and her colleagues who had resisted injustice.
And finally, for the fools who lived at a loss.
Cheers.
……
"…And that's what happened."
After ending the brief drinking session, Enoch returned to Lakrina. At the dessert café they arrived at afterward, he honestly revealed that he had made a new investment of 200 billion.
"Cough!"
Upon hearing the explanation, crumbs flew from Lakrina's mouth. It was a 3,500-cro pastry.